


The Dark Knight: Rogue Resurrection

by tg_aurelius



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), The Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Action, Drama & Romance, F/M, Multi, Post-The Dark Knight Rises, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-09-08 04:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8831416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tg_aurelius/pseuds/tg_aurelius
Summary: In the wake of the Batman's sacrifice and defeat of the terrorist Bane, Gotham still reels from instability and uncertainty as Arkham Asylum escapees roam the city. Having left the GCPD and with no sign of Bruce Wayne in over a year, Detective John Blake dedicates himself to running the Thomas and Martha Wayne Home for Children, hoping to give kids like him a better chance at life. But when Commissioner Gordon seeks his help taking down the growing corruption instigated by mob boss Salvatore Moroni, Blake must find the delicate balance between past injustices and the future of Gotham. To help shoulder the responsibility of caring for Gotham's underprivileged youths, he finds a compassionate soul in Dr. Tessa Fox, Lucius's brilliant daughter, recently returned home from Africa to continue her medical research on bioengineering. While her assistance brings a welcome relief to the overworked Blake, Dr. Fox uncovers more than just medical advances in Gotham's society and soon makes a dangerous breakthrough that could compromise Blake's investigation.Determined to help Gordon eradicate Moroni's powerful organized crime ring, Blake finds that without Batman, heroes aren't born. They rise.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after The Dark Knight Rises. Adheres to Nolanverse canon more than the comics.
> 
> also posted on FanFiction.net

Salt and sulfur.

The gritty, acrid stench filled his lungs as he crouched low next to the greasy dumpster and counted. Not his heartbeats. Not the seconds as they crept by. But the tide.

He listened to the waves rushing and tumbling over the rocks and up against the concrete pilings of the distant pier. As trained as he was to listen for noise disturbances and hints of criminal activity, he had equally become attuned to the oft overlooked ambient sounds of nature; an owl, the crickets that he could sometimes hear outside the first story library if he left the window open. The wild flutter of wings through the darkness. Night rhythms.

He never noticed their absence in the city, just their strangely reassuring echoes whenever he walked the manor grounds . Such luxuries were foreign to the street-smart John Blake but the longer he lived at the manor, the more layers he began to peel back regarding its former tenant. It was filled with such commotion nowadays with the 14 new occupants of various heights and hormonal rages. It was a whole new level of stress complicating his already complex life. Made sense why guys like Wayne never had any kids.

His left ear crackled to life as the surveillance piece snapped him back to the street-level activity.

" _Hayes 52 to 18-0, what's your twenty?"_

Blake stifled a yawn before responding.

" _18-0 to Hayes, I'm located at the Northeast entrance to the building. Over."_

_"10-4. Stand-by until we have eyes on-"_

A loud crash halted the radio chatter and forced Blake up off his haunches. He peered around the corner and heard various shouts followed by the sounds of doors slamming and a piercing screech of rubber skidding across the pavement.

" _52 to all units! We have an unidentified black sedan fleeing the location headed south! Over!"_

Blake grabbed the overcoat he was disguised in and hotfooted back to his car. Flinging his gear back, he flipped on the scanner and listened while he waited for his partner, Detective Raphael Diaz, to return to their unmarked car.

"Someone tell Moroni we were coming?" Diaz huffed, clamoring into his seat and buckling his seatbelt.

"Magic 8 ball, who knows?" Blake shrugged, throwing the car into drive. The charger growled in response and roared out into the night.

"A rat probably," Diaz muttered. "Gordon always cranky about who had the department access codes to this mess."

"Chief's been around this town long enough. He's not stupid."

Diaz grimaced and grabbed the radio scanner and responded, giving the direction they were headed. 

 "Nothing dumber than a thug running straight into a police ambush," Diaz laughed. 

"What?" Blake shouted over the heavy hum of the engine's acceleration.

"Months we've been tracking the shipments coming in and out of this warehouse!" Diaz replied. "Gotta be some special kind of stupid to think cops wouldn't be watching this place!"

Blake knew Gordon had weeks of surveillance data on the smuggling crew that had been operating out of the pier. There was always a significant influx of cargo ships and smaller vessels on a daily basis, mostly delivering to the industrial and manufacturing companies that did legitimate business nearby and throughout the Narrows and lower Gotham. While the warehouse itself had been registered under a foreign company, one of the detectives working undercover in a black market ring gained proof of its connection to the Moroni crime ring.

Carmine Falcone had been the #1 for a long time until Batman delivered crucial information and Falcone himself to the DA's office. Falcone and Salvatore "Sal" Moroni had a long beef with each other so it was only a matter of time before the other took advantage of the situation and resurfaced. The only reason Moroni had evaded arrest so long was that he was always managed to be one step ahead of Gordon. It made very little sense for him to slip up now. Unless this wasn't an actual mistake. 

 _Nope. Definitely, not a mistake,_ Blake thought. He accelerated again before suddenly swinging the car over to the curb. 

"What?" Diaz shouted.

Blake didn't answer and instead cut the wheel and turned the car in the opposite direction. He could feel his pulse race as he drove them back towards the pier at breakneck speed. The car screeched down the side alleys and over pot holes and then finally back into the warehouse lot. Slamming on the brakes and shifting to park, Blake threw open his door, car still running.

"Yo! Blake! What th- " Diaz called after him.

He ignored him and raced towards the warehouse. Blake rounded the corner of the building and ran to the entrance where they had heard the commotion earlier. Leaning hard on the locked door, he busted it open with his boot. The warehouse was pitch black and frigid as Blake carefully made his way inside. Drawing his weapon, he shined his small flashlight on the various objects enveloped in the darkness. There were towers of crates and huge shipping containers taking up most of the floor space. Everything was unmarked or missing company logos of any kind but nothing particularly alarming. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a door cracked and a faint but occasional light beaming about. 

Blake crept over and looked inside. He spotted someone digging around a floor vault situated next to a tower of hard drives. Slowly, he inched the door open and raised his weapon.

"Gotham PD! Hands where I can see them!"

Startled, the figure reacted quickly, whipped around and fired a shot off just seconds after Blake noticed the gun. He took cover behind some cargo containers before peering around again. The figure had started making a run for the room's only other exit.

"Hey! Hey! Freeze!"

The figure vaulted over a stack of cases and scurried across to the far end of the room and disappeared through the other door. 

Blake sped after him, weaving between tall 10-gallon barrels, crates, and stacks of gray metal cases. He had just made it to the threshold when a small object went whizzing a few inches past his face and clattered to the ground. Even though his eyes were still locked on his target, Blake's reflexes made him turn and look. 

_GRENADE_

Blake quickly took a few steps to his left and launched himself through one of the warehouse external windows. Rolling, he scrambled to search for cover just as the loud boom shook the room and sent glass flying. Smoke began to poured out as the facility glowed orange with the growing fire.

Blake groaned and staggered to his feet. He squinted, disoriented by the blast, trying to regain his balance and shake the clogged feeling between his ears.

"Blake! Blake!"

He felt something grab his arm and wrap around his shoulders as he struggled to stand up. Diaz had made it to his side and helped Blake to his feet.

"Hey man, y'alright?"

"Yeah...yeah, I'm good just-" Blake paused, coughing and feeling the dull ache on his left shoulder where he fell. Together he and Diaz watched as flames shoot out from the ground level windows to the warehouse. 

Diaz exhaled loudly and shook his head. "Accident or coincidence?" he asked to no one in particular.

"How about... _message_ ," Blake replied grimly. 

 

* * *

 

"Ow!"

Blake winced while the scalding hot liquid spilled down his left hand and splashed onto the surrounding coffee cups and sugar packets. Figures. Too early in the morning that he needed the caffeine but too early to take care to not spill said beverage.

"Need a hand?"

Blake looked over at the stack of napkins being held in front of him.

"Oh, thanks man," he answered not bothering to look up, grabbed a few and furiously wiped off his hand and the spots of coffee that had gotten onto his one good tie. Blake sighed and shook his head. "And this is why I don't do 'Dry Clean Only'."

"Don't tell me you miss the police uniform already?"

Blake looked up, now aware of the unmistakable gravely, baritone that had been addressing him.

"Mr. Fox! It's great to see you, sir," he grinned and extended his hand to the tall and slender older gentleman, Lucius Fox, standing just behind him in the queue for the coffee machine.

"Geez, sorry about the mess I made but seems I've forgotten how to perform simple tasks on 3 hours worth of sleep," Blake said sheepishly, running a hand through his hair and gesturing to the splatter.

Lucius held up a hand. "You're not the first one around here to be outfoxed by these shiny contraptions we call modern conveniences. Although nothing I've ever designed was this complicated." 

Lucius graciously helped Blake wipe up the remaining liquid. "Then again maybe we just like trying to impress people with flashy objects once in awhile. Always with the theatrics, " he added winking.

Blake smiled and threw away the soiled napkins into a nearby bin. "Gotta keep up with the competition, I guess right? Wayne Enterprises can't exactly have a $29.95 coffee maker in its reception area and then turn around and try to sell their clients billion-dollar equipment."

Lucius gave an amused chuckle then nodded. "I'll be sure to remind the accounting department of that." He looked Blake over with his intelligent brown eyes. "3 hours of sleep, huh? I'd ask you where the party was but that would mean you have a proper social life."

Blake laughed and took a sip of his coffee.

"Kid like me from the Narrows? Nah, not much success in that department. Just work, actually. Late nights. Long hours. Bad leftovers."  

Lucius pursed his lips. "Sounds familiar." 

Blake watched as Lucius, unlike himself, effortlessly operated the coffee maker and received a neatly made, steaming cup of espresso. "So what has Gotham's finest here in our neck of the woods so early? Should I be worried?" Lucius said, eyes twinkling. 

Blake downed the last drops of his beverage.

"I'm here about my other day job, actually. Wayne & Co. says I gotta appear in person whenever I need beg for money... so here I am," Blake said, waving his hands for effect. "The Home is looking to accept more children but it's not going to be easy."

"Didn't the trust mandate a set amount and periodic increases? They shouldn't be giving you any trouble. I can talk to the Board about expanding the fund." 

"No- no it's nothing like that," Blake said. "We're losing two staff members next week. We have some temps that are going to replace them but these kids need a stable influence. Plus with Gordon having me on this huge case..." Blake trailed off, remembering that even though Lucius Fox was a close friend, he was still one of the most senior Wayne employees.  Blake wanted to be honest but the Wayne Home meant a lot to him and didn't want to start sounding like he was getting overwhelmed or on the verge of quitting. 

"I could use another full time to supervise everything but that's not exactly in the budget right now. Hoping I can get another salary approved," Blake added. 

Fox seemed to consider this for a moment before taking another sip of his espresso. 

"You know what, I think I have just the right person for you."

Blake's eyebrows shot up. "Oh yeah?"

"My daughter. Just got back from a summer working at a medical clinic in Africa. I think she's exactly what you're looking for." Fox smiled and reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He started scrolling and then began tapping away.

Blake straightened up, feeling like a burden had been lifted off his shoulders. So far the job applicants had been less than stellar but Lucius Fox's own daughter was probably the best recommendation they were ever going to get.

"Great. Can you give her my number? Mrs. Young, the housekeeper has been interviewing people so-"

"No need," Fox interjected. "I'll tell her to stop by this afternoon and talk with you about it. She can start tomorrow."

"Uh..ok, but I mean, she doesn't have to do it. We probably can't pay her a lot. Does she even like kids?"

Fox waved him off. "You can stop interviewing people. She'll do it. I'll have my secretary send over the salary request to our Corporate Giving Department," Fox added, patting Blake on the back. "I think having a doctor on staff is just what those young people need."

Blake smiled and shook Fox's hand. "Thank you, sir. I don't know what I would do if you weren't such a fan of Mr. Wayne because I know I sure wouldn't help a guy like me out as much as you have. I'll go and get the ball rolling on everything back at Wayne Manor," he said, turning to leave. 

"Oh and Detective Blake?"

Blake turned around.

"Try not to worry about . I'm sure he's very proud of the work you're doing."

Blake sighed. "Mr. Pennyworth gets a newsletter just like every other board member. Somehow I think we're the last thing on his mind as he sips tea and wears cardigans back in London."

"I wasn't talking about Alfred, Detective." 

With the smallest of smiles, Fox turned on his heel and headed back towards the entrance. "Go home and take a nap, son," he called over his shoulder. "You look like death warmed over."

 

 


	2. two

Sue looked at her watch and then up at the clock, before glancing back down at her wrist again. Only six minutes left until it was her dinner break and she was hoping that Ginny would come back from hers early so that she could sneak down to the cafeteria before it closed. Her stomach had been growling on-and-off for the past hour and all she could think about was getting the last of the double chocolate muffins they sold on Wednesdays. That's if there were any left at this hour.

It had been raining out all day and she really didn't feel like sloshing her way out to her Honda Accord and getting soaked just to drive down the street to the overpriced diner some of the more senior medical staff of West Gotham General Hospital frequented. Her clogs were the only shoes she had thought to wear today as she rushed out of the house to work and was about halfway to the hospital when she realized her sneakers were still on the shoe rack in their laundry room at home. One of these days she would remember to leave them in her locker at work.

"Sorry, sorry," Ginny huffed as she rounded the corner of the reception desk. She tossed her belongs the desk and sat down in her chair.

"Hank called me because he couldn't find the remote again. I asked him if he had left it on top of the microwave like he sometimes does."

"Did he find it?" Sue asked.

"He was sitting on it," Ginny answered, still annoyed.

Sue snorted as she grabbed her purse from underneath the front desk.

"Headed downstairs, "Sue said, slipping a cardigan on over her scrubs. "Just going to grab dinner. Dr. Morrison returned the iPad a few minutes ago; says it needs charging."

"Oh! Hey Sue," Ginny called after her, leaning over the desk. "Do you mind just running down to Room 39B? I told him visiting hours were over and wanted to make sure he observed the rules."

Sue sighed. "Yeah, ok but I'm adding 5 extra to the end of my break then."

"You're the best," Ginny gave Sue a thumbs up as Sue disappeared down the hall.

It had been surprisingly slow visitor-wise all day in their wing, not that Sue had noticed with the stack of doctors' notes she had to enter into the database and med supply list to review and send out to the administrative office. It was mostly her fault, she knew that much. She actually did her job running the desk efficiently and leaving her colleague at the front desk in their wing of the hospital, Ginny, to do very little except answer the occasional phone call and or do some internet shopping on her smartphone. Sue's transfer request had been denied so she realized she only had to survive Ginny's "8 more months until retirement", as Ginny had so frequently referenced. Sue still didn't know what exactly she was retiring from seeing as Ginny probably hadn't worked a day for the past 6 years.

Sue entered the hospital room which was depressingly dim and lit by only the fluorescent light over the bed and a corner lamp. She pulled her sweater closer to her body when the room's cold atmosphere sent a bone-chilling draft through her clothes. Sue looked around for the wall thermostat and spotted the whiteboard with the nurse's info scrawled in blue dry erase marker. _Margaret Rudd, RN_. She would have to ask Margaret to adjust the heat on her next round. She couldn't imagine anyone recuperating in something this uncomfortably cool.

The room was designed for double occupancy but only the furthest bed was in use. Next to it, sat a man hunched over in his chair, looking to be either talking quietly to the patient or perhaps praying. There was no television playing like in most of the other rooms, only the sound of the monitoring equipment beeping could be heard. Sue hated to interrupt this quiet moment but judging from the sight of the myriad tubes coming from the patient's mouth, arm and the other visible medical devices, it was highly unlikely this visit was yielding much in the way of two-way communication.

"Sir, our visiting hours are over. I'm afraid you'll have to leave."

The man stirred, lifting his head slightly.

"Yes, I'll only be a minute," he replied, not turning around. "I only wanted to wish her goodnight. "

Sue sighed. "Very well, but please be brief." She turned on her heel and left, deciding that if he lingered, one of the interns wandering the floor could alert the front desk. At least it would give Ginny something to do.

The man sat in his chair motionless, eyes fixed on the face of the woman lying in the hospital bed. He hadn't spoken since entering the room and pulled the chair up to her side. She looked the same. Skin just as clear and bright as the day he met her, long blonde eyelashes set along wide-set, almond shaped eyes that lay closed. Her mouth fixed in the straight yet contented line like it always was whenever she read or watered the plants in her small garden. Lying there she almost resembled a portrait of the Sleeping Beauty,  a vision that he could admire forever.

No, he didn't want it to be this way. He wanted her to open her eyes and see him. He longed to see the faint blush that would appear in her cheeks when she laughed- wanted to hear her dulcet voice saying his name. Not the stillness of infirmity, this uncertain slumber. Was she dreaming? Was she happy? Did she know that he was sorry?

" _Nora_ ," he uttered softly, a dry pinch in the back of his throat.

He heard footsteps enter the room and quickly gathered his composure before the nurse could ask him to leave again.

"Yes, yes. I know. I was just leaving," he said, rising up and reaching for his coat had draped over the vacant bed over.

"My condolences, Doctor. I know this institution has little regard for the grieving."

The man froze but then turned and looked straight ahead at the newly arrived guests. Three men all dressed in nondescript black, wool overcoats and dress slacks entered his wife's hospital room. Two of them were complete strangers but the third he recognized instantly as Rupert Thorne, CEO of Thorne Enterprise. Thorne was never without an assistant or PR maven wherever he went yet the man knew he could safely eliminate either of the 2 burly-looking individuals from those job descriptions. They had met a few times, most recently at a gala in London where a colleague of his was receiving an award. Thorne looked exactly how he knew people expected him to look like. Mature, handsome and capable; a picture of Old Money, Ivy League health and prosperity. 

"I spoke to uh...Virginia, at the desk," Thorne said, gesturing to the hallway. "She said that you can have a few more moments with your dearly departed."

The man clenched his jaw, working hard not to glare at Thorne.

"She's not dead," he replied.

Thorne looked over at one of his male associates who raised an eyebrow at him.

"No?" Thorne countered, amazed as he took a few steps further into the room. "It was my understanding there was some kind of delay getting that very specific treatment of yours funded. If this coma doesn't sign her death certificate, then the long arm of rigid Gotham bureaucracy probably will."

The man took a deep breath this time, steeling himself before answering.

"You came here just to talk about Gotham's social issues?"

Thorne stared at him, eyes scrutinizing the man with the calmest of smiles. "I just came to see if you had reconsidered my offer."

The man turned his back to them to look once more at his sick wife.

"I already gave you my answer," he answered evenly. "My work...isn't for sale, Rupert."

Thorne sucked in his teeth and neared the bedside.

"You're right, I'm just a businessman who think about nothing but money. But you, Victor... you're the man of science, the man of discovery, a man not afraid to take risks. I need someone like you to guide me in the way."

The man, Victor Fries, didn't answer. How did Thorne even known his wife was in this hospital, much less back stateside?

"Look, Doctor Fries, I'm not here to 'make you an offer you can't refuse'. This isn't about me or my 'business', alright? This is about finding a cure for your beloved wife over there and who knows...maybe even a cure for all humanity."

"What's in it for you?" Dr, Fries asked, unable to mask the skepticism in his voice.

Thorne smiled and shrugged at him sympathetically.

"Do yourself a favor, Victor. Come down to the corporate office next week, we can have a little chat and I'll show you around. We've even got a lab space you can have all to yourself. Take a look around, maybe testdrive a- I don't know a microscope or two - and if you don't like it, I'll get out of your hair for good."

Dr. Fries sighed, wearied and taut.

"Don't even think about it know," Thorne said, breezily. "I'll see you on Monday and you can see for yourself. Can't hurt, right? If you don't go, then you'll never know."

The woman from the front desk appeared in the doorway trying her best to look stern although she was facing down Thorne's considerably sturdy-looking associates.

"Sir, I need you and your friends to leave. Hospital policy."

Thorne flashed her his toothy executive grin.

"Yes, Miss Virginia, we were just leaving."

Virginia nodded tersely, before turning sharply on her heel and left. Thorne's two employees followed leaving Thorne and Dr. Fries in the room.

Thorne turned and looked at Dr. Fries, over at his wife and then around the room once more. "Just remember, Victor. What you don't know," Thorne added, heading for the door, "just might kill her."


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as much as I love Anne Hathaway, in my version, Catwoman would be played by Charlize Theron.

Swissotel the Bosphorous, Istanbul. 6 months earlier.

 

The balmy, light breeze blew through the open balcony window and filled the room with a heady scent of woodsmoke, spices, and the ocean as he rolled over and stared out at the fading late afternoon light. Briefly, he contemplated staying in bed and blowing off the whole thing. He could pretend he was just on another vacation; maybe get up in another hour or two and see what kind of trouble he could get into after dark.  Not exactly the reason he was in this part of the world to begin with but he could try to at least keep up appearances, right?

 

Bruce Wayne, former Billionaire, lay on his back in the king-size bed, wearing only pair of dark grey leisure pants, arms behind his head, and let his thoughts meander. He hated to admit that all good things did come to an end, but he knew better the moment she slipped away in the night. No, there was never any discussion about it, no declarations, no passionate monologues. Not really their style. They were just two individuals that had made hard choices in life and now life was giving them a way out it seemed.  He didn’t even really know long it was exactly since she joined him at his little, unbalanced table tucked in the back corner of the cliffside Amalfi restaurant; a vision in a cobalt blue dress, hair tousled, eyes hidden behind a pair of cat-eyed sunglasses no less. She smiled at him like an old friend and he ordered them a bottle of Barolo. _Salute’. To alter egos and to Gotham. May they never see either again._ Bruce exhaled now at the memory. It was hard to accept that he was now letting Alfred down again but if he were truly honest with himself, he knew that such a life of privilege was never meant to be. Joe Chill had made sure of that.

 

Forty five minutes later, after showering, shaving, and doing several reps of alternating push ups and planking, Bruce slipped on a black shirt, tailored pants and a dinner jacket and made his way downstairs. It was convenient that tonight’s event was being held in his hotel as opposed to the venue where the conference had been held all week. He never intended to rent a car or hire himself a driver in order to keep a low profile but had opted to get around the city via taxi; not something he had done often and it didn’t take long for him to remember why.

 

Waiters and bussers on their way to and from greeted him as they passed him on his way and a doorman nodded politely and opened the door for him when he reached the grand Asuka ballroom. Loud live-music from a 10 piece band hit him as soon as he entered the lavishly-decorated space. There were people everywhere laughing and chatting in groups as they ate away on various grilled vegetables, seafood, lamb and other Turkish cuisine. His stomach let out a faint growl as he walked by some woman’s laden small plate, but instead he settled on swiping the last glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

 

He wandered the perimeter of the room, glass in hand, studying the smiles and gestures of the couture-drenched and well-coiffed attendees. The gala was the final event being hosted by the Zurich Institute but in actuality was being financed by Rupert Thorne, the enigmatic CEO of Thorne Industries. Only someone with Thorne’s grasping ambition would spend money so conspicuously to secure the necessary donorship base, and attract them he did.  Every day that Bruce had been spent at the Manifest Destiny Conference held at the regal Ciragan Palace Hotel, Bruce had seen the cream of Silicon Valley’s crop, the brightest minds from scientific institutions from Hong Kong and Norway, and every oil and real estate mogul just dying to live forever, or at least discover whatever new drug Thorne was looking to manufacture. As unfamiliar Bruce was with the biomedical field, he was at least aware of the esteemed scientist whose eye Thorne was really trying to catch. Dr. Victor Fries, co-founder of The Zurich Institute, was the fragile, but brilliant keynote speaker for this particular conference due to his extensive research in the field and the supposed honoree for this fundraiser. Whatever Thorne’s next business venture would be, more than likely had the world of medicine in mind and Bruce had a hunch that Thorne had found his very own Dr. Frankenstein.

 

There was no sign of the doctor however, which didn’t surprise Bruce in the least, but he spotted the man himself, Thorne, deep in conversation with a comely brunette in a long red evening gown. Although her back was to Bruce, the look on smitten Thorne’s face was a dead giveaway; any disappointment at Dr. Fries’ absence surely vanished as soon as that red dress showed up. Bruce also took note of the 8 members of hotel security stationed at various points around the room. Sipping his champagne from the minimalist-designed flute, Bruce started counting the plainclothes police officers that were there. Events like these were usually very secure but the presence of an undercover force was interesting. If anything, it meant a guy like Thorne was nervous but more than that, it meant he had something nearby worth protecting. At least Bruce knew he had been led to the right place.

 

Satisfied with his scout, Bruce handed off his empty glass to a server, slipped from the ballroom and made his way to the elevator bank. He punched the button for the top floor and as the elevator rose, he went over the evening’s schedule in his head. Thorne would be giving a speech in 22 minutes after which he was expected to make a brief errand to Bruce’s destination. He had timed everything precisely, giving himself a spare 3 minutes in case anything should go south. He hadn’t planned on bumping into Thorne while trespassing in Thorne’s office, but Bruce knew with her involved, it might make things a little more...complicated.

 

Exiting the elevator, he removed the small tension wrench from his pocket and headed towards the boiler room located at the far end. Picking the lock in just under 13 seconds, Bruce slipped inside and pulled a ladder from the wall and set it up in the back corner of the room. He found the loose ceiling tile and shifted it to the side. Hoisting himself, up and through, he made his way through the ventilation system until he reach the opposite end and pushed the grated opening out. It clattered to the ground below, signaling that he had reached the restricted access stairwell.  Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the top and another door that this time would only be locked from the outside.

 

Pushing the door open, Bruce cautiously made his way onto the uneven rooftop and looked out over the city nightscape. In the distance, he could see the golden orbs lighting the spires and domes of the Hagia Sophia shining in the darkness; below the lively streets of Istanbul as packs of tourists strolled the streets, meandering from bazaar vendor to vendor, taking selfies, or enjoying a nice sidewalk dinner in the warm, darkening twilight. He could even hear the faint pulse of a nightclub reverberate faintly in the night. Since arriving in Istanbul three days before, he had spent very little time absorbing the Turkish nightlife and its sensual enticements. He had convinced himself that there was still more work to be done and that Gotham’s defense sometimes lay way beyond its city limits.

 

He walked to the edge or the roof  and peered down at his target, the neighboring building where Thorne had his clandestine office from which he had been operating since last November. It would be quite the challenge to get across and Bruce was suddenly wishing he still used that bloody cane once in awhile. Suddenly, he heard a tiny meow out of the darkness. Bruce listened, smiling to himself and decided to follow the animal’s sounds. The purrs grew louder as he approached until a pair of eyes glowed back at him and he could just make out the black and grey feline, perched on the edge of the roof.

“Here, Kitty,” he whispered, slowly approaching the ledge.

 

The cat simply stared back at him for a moment before meowing nastily and leaping off. Bruce rushed over just in time to see its lithe, furry form land on a narrow strip of concrete jutting from the neighboring building.  The cat continued its descent from ledge to windowsil before landing safely on a nearby balcony. Was he really about to let a cat show him how to scale a building? Shaking his head, he looked around for a more feasible route until he spied a series of rails attached to the neighboring building. The distance between the two buildings wasn’t what worried him, nor the height exactly. It was whether he was any good without the suit.

 

It was a question he had asked himself more than a few times and each time the answer was less and less conclusive. Physically, the years, the criminals, the Joker, the Asylum, Bane, the pit….all had taunted the Batman relentlessly, pushing his body further and further towards the breaking point. Nevertheless, Gordon always had faith in Gotham’s Dark Knight and he had yet to disappoint. Only Alfred knew what it was costing the man underneath the mask. Would Bruce Wayne worth much if he couldn’t fight for justice in the shadows? Justice always had a price, his friend Harvey had taught him that.

 

He shut out the voice in his head and swung his legs over the side. Carefully, he let himself down the side of the building, his hands finding purchase in the various crevices on the building’s exterior until his foot found a wide enough ledge just within range of the rails. Lunging across, he closed the gap safely and seized the top rung and made his way down two stories to his target. Using the same tension wrench, he worked a window open and let himself into an empty room that was in the midst of being repainted. Quickly, he made his way across, opened the door and out into the level where Thorne had purchased an office. Bruce checked his watch before striding over to the Thorne’s office door. He pulled out a duplicate of the chip card that he had made and slipped it through the card reader, unlocking the door.

 

Pushing the door open noiselessly, he pressed himself up against the wall and stopped. Even though the room was dark, he had memorized the blueprint layout of the room from when he had studied it. Technically, it wasn’t even Thorne’s office, more of a makeshift satellite office for the new business he suddenly acquired over the last 14 months; business Bruce was certain that Thorne Industries’ board of directors were woefully unaware of.

 

Silently but swiftly, he crossed the room, eyes fixed on the back inner office. With the fundraiser in full swing and Thorne thoroughly preoccupied with his intimate conversation, Bruce estimated that he would only have about 8 minutes before the next security sweep. He knew that the two cameras, one at the north end and the one one the south had been hijacked with pre-recorded footage which had made his entry into the office easier but would only work until Thorne’s detail came to do a live check of the office itself. Which meant she would only have about 3 minutes.

 

To all appearances, the office door was locked and had most likely been that way until she found a way to disable the digital entry. He decided to see just how well he knew her and gave the door a slight nudge. It swayed open a little and Bruce squeezed himself through the smallest opening he would hazard. The office was dark as expected except for the infinitesimal glow coming from just the interior light of  Thorne’s now open vault along the back wall behind his desk.

 

He stood for a moment as he watched the familiar figure with the custom night vision eyewear over her head route around inside the vault. He didn’t know whether to be impressed at her skill or disappointed at how they had both fallen so easily back into old ways.

 

“You know you could probably see better if you turned the lights on,” he announced evenly, before flipping on the switch, flooding the office with light.

 

If she was startled, she didn’t show it but instead turned around slowly, stood and lifted her special eyewear over her head. In lieu of her signature full-length black bodysuit and boots, she wore a rather delicate looking blush-hued evening gown of chiffon, a large diamond choker adorning her neck.  

 

“Somewhere there’s a joke here about bad pennies but you’ve probably never seen one,” she answered tightly.

 

“I know what pennies are,” he replied. “ They’re those uh, they’re the ones you leave under kids pillows, right?”

 

Selina snorted “Figures...cheapskate,” she muttered and turned back to her task at hand.

 

Bruce stepped further into Thorne’s office watching her remove several small items from the vault.

 

“Is this about that gelato place we went to? I’ll buy you three scoops next time.”

 

Selina laughed and shook her head, sighing.

 

“Florence was fun, Bruce. And I did love that stracciatella.”

 

“So why leave?” he asked, moving closer but still observing her every movement carefully.

 

She shrugged. “Nothing good last forever. And it was time a girl got back to being bad.”

 

Selina lifted her leg, the garments gauzy fabric of her evening gown falling open at the thigh slit, revealing a black garter a little more than 2 inches wide around her left leg. She zipped open the tiniest opening no more than 2 cm big and slipped something into her leg accouterment.

 

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” he asked.

 

She shot him a derisive look and lowered her leg.

 

“I meant, you do realize that the man who owns that vault probably won’t have any qualms making sure anyone who steals from him disappears for good?  He’s not exactly about the due process of the law. “

 

Selina gave him a saccharine smile and clutched her hands to her chest.

 

“Aw, are saying you’d miss me? Aren’t you a big softie.”

 

“No, I mean it’s hard to return a dress when  you’re dead.”

 

“Oh, good. Won’t need to blow open that safe after all.”

 

Bruce and Selina turned at the sound of a deep baritone as three men in identical uniforms of dark green pants, black long-sleeved and dark green vests entered Thorne’s office. Unlike Bruce and Selina, they clearly hadn’t been dressed for the Gala downstairs and were most likely carrying concealed weapons. Bruce could tell from the way they moved across the room and positioned themselves between the exits and Bruce and Selina, that they were most likely ex-Military. It wasn’t clear exactly, whether they were associated with Thorne or were a third party that Bruce would have to add to his growing investigation.

 

“Sorry boys,” Selina cooed.  “Finders, keepers.”

 

“You sell those to whoever hired you to steal them and your billionaire boyfriend over there is going to be more than a little pissed off at you,” the man baritone added.

 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Selina rolled her eyes.

 

“Look, whatever you want, you’re going to have to take it up with Mr. Thorne,” Bruce said.  “I’ve never done any business with Thorne.”

 

“I wouldn’t exactly call you business partners either, but here we are,” the one who apparently was the group’s spokesman, said. His English was flavored with a distinct accent that Bruce couldn’t place it with certainty, but thought it leaned heavily Central European. He was the tallest of the three but also the most slender, a scar running from his left temple and along his jaw. The others were built rather solidly and probably around 200 lbs each.

 

“What are you talking about?” Bruce asked gruffly.

 

“Bruce,” Selina cautioned.

 

The man with scar smiled broadly, amused by Bruce’s reaction. “You wanna tell him whose name is written that drive you got tucked up under there or shall I?” he asked Selina, pointedly.

 

“What’s on the drives?” Bruce said. He was doing his best to keep his voice even. Any sign of distress could easily give scarface and company more of an upper hand.

 

“One drive holds something very important to my boss. The other is a list of account numbers to where you’ve been keeping that rainy day fund of yours after that freak drained you dry with his little stunt at the stock exchange.”

 

Bruce looked over at Selina who stood motionless, arms folded.

 

“He’s bluffing,” she replied, stone-faced.

 

“What do you care?” Scarface scoffed.  “Not your money. So hand over the drives and I won’t rearrange pretty boy’s face over there.” His other three partners then all reached into their vests and pulled out their handguns- all with silencers, Bruce noted. He looked over at Selina who raised an eyebrow and leveled her head.

 

“Don’t do it, Selina,” Bruce warned.

 

Slowly, Selina leaned over, reached down into the slit of her dress and pulled out the drives.

 

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” she answered, gingerly handing them over to the thug standing at her side, who then gave them to Scarface.

 

Bruce remained still and looked back at Selina. She wore a frightened look on her face that almost had even Bruce convinced but he didn’t matter. She had them and only he knew just how this would end.

 

“You should be,” Bruce replied. “Those account numbers are worth 50 times more than your dress.”

 

“How would you know?” Selina asked, her voice shifting to subtly playful.  “Did I leave the tag on again?”

 

“You didn’t exactly buy that dress,” he replied.

 

“Guilty,” Selina smirked. “but you know I look good.”

 

It was barely a fraction of a second but it worked and the one who was standing by her took his eyes off Selina’s face and looked down at her dress. Stupid but effective.

 

Selina threw her elbow up straight into his nose. Disoriented, he took an unbalanced step backwards, allowing Selena to ram her knee straight to his groin, causing him to double over, dropping his gun. Selina bent down, grabbed it and quickly fired it at the other two before ducking behind Thorne’s desk.

 

Bruce seized their brief element of surprise and swung his foot into the back thigh of the man standing next to him. The man sank to the floor and Bruce brought his arm down hard on the man’s neck. Bruce moved quickly but not enough time for him to find cover before Scarface aimed his gun at Bruce. Two shots rang out and he jerked backwards, dropping his gun.

 

Selina had managed to shoot from behind the desk and hit the man in the arm and leg with the gun she had snatched.

 

“No guns, remember!” Bruce heaved.

 

“If that was a ‘thank you’,” Selina spat,  “You’re welcome!”

 

The man whose nose she had probably broken, struggled to his feet and lunged towards Selina but she was too quick for him and thrust the butt of his gun back in his face, knocking him back flat on his back. Bruce managed to also strike both Scarface and the third man unconscious while Selina scrambled to retrieve the drives she had handed over and which had scattered across the floor after she shot him.

 

“Thorne’s on his way,” a slightly winded Bruce warned.

 

“Right behind you,” she said, as they rushed back through the office and out into the corridor. This time he led them to another stairwell which they took down three flights.

 

“Here,”  Selina said, motioning for them to exit the stairwell, bringing them out into what looked like the hallway of a post-war style apartment complex, chandeliers lighting the tan and gray interior, a large 6 foot arched window at the opposite end.

 

“Little overdressed for a work night, don’t you think?” he asked, following her down the hall towards the window.

 

“I don’t know about you, but I was at fabulous fundraising gala all evening,” she heaved, straining to force the window open. It opened with a crack and she was able to slide it all the way up.

 

“So that’s the story you’re going with this time?” Bruce said, amused.

 

She flashed him a saucy grin and began tying her long blonde, hair into a ponytail.

 

“More or less.”

 

“Any idea who your little fan club in there was?”

 

“No clue. My competitors, perhaps?” Selina shook her head. “Getting harder and harder to make an honest day’s living, honestly.”

 

“Seems like the market is getting a little crowded then. Why Thorne?

 

Selina let out a deep and exasperated sigh.

 

“Look, Bruce, I get a job, I do my job and I get paid. I don’t ask questions and I don’t get involved with guns for hire. Whatever those guys wanted, have nothing to do with me. Why don’t you ask the shady billionaire himself?”

 

Selina unclasped the delicate diamond choker around her neck, flipped it over and began to break it off into sections. She reached for the custom garter she was still wearing and dropped the necklace into yet another hidden compartment.

 

“Fair enough,” Bruce nodded. “Can you at least hand over what belongs to me?” he asked, extending his hand.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Selina replied with a straight face.  

 

“I almost let you hand them over to whatever that was back in there and judging from their appearance, whoever hired you is most likely not any more scrupulous,” Bruce said, slightly impatiently.  Time was of the essence at this point and whatever storm was headed their way would be a lot more than just one extremely pissed off tycoon.

 

“And while you’re at it, just give me everything you took. Thorne can be my problem.”

 

Selina eyed him for a moment as if determining how much trouble it was all really worth. The one drive was labeled Wayne after all, but the others, one marked ‘M.T.’ and the other ‘Banco Santander’ were probably just as important to somebody if Thorne had needed to store them away in a vault in the middle of Istanbul. Guyer, the individual who contacted her, had said to poach only the Wayne and the M.T. drive but the Spanish bank one looked promising and well, she’d consider it her commision for a job well done. But Bruce had been right before and if the people Guyer was working for her just as unsavory as Bruce was leading her to believe, there was no way she was coming up short.

 

“Always the optimist, Bruce,” she answered finally, producing the 3 USB drives in her hand and dropping them into his palm.

 

“Old habits,” he replied, turning around and checking the hallway for any curious tenants that might have appeared or been lurking about. “Speaking of which, don’t you have a dress to retu- ”

 

Bruce felt a solid thud to the back of his head.

 

She was out the window, drives in hand, and down the the remaining floors by the time his head hit the floor.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every chapter will not be this long! (hopefully)


End file.
